


Confirmatory Testing

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Diagnose and Medicate [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexual Character, Character of Color, M/M, drunken theorizing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-01
Updated: 2007-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chase and Foreman can't seem to stop asking each other questions, even when the answers aren't going to go anywhere good. Somewhere between 'drinking buddy' and 'colleague' and 'friend' is plenty of room for stupid decisions. (Set through "Autopsy" in Season 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confirmatory Testing

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Scrollwyrm for beta assistance!

It only occurs to him to ask several weeks later, when they're at the bar after work, Chase has had a few, and he's thinking over the first time they met. So at the next pause in the conversation, Foreman turns to his drinking buddy and says, quietly, "Look. Am I wrong, or were you flirting with me?"

When Chase blinks in surprise his eyes go wide. Really wide. "Ah," he says after a minute, "look, I've gotten used to the idea of being bi, but it's not something... it won't come up again."

Foreman watches him try and hide behind swallowing his beer. It doesn't actually work. "'Cause I'm straight."

"Believe me," Chase says, grinning sardonically, "I got that."

"Okay." He watches Chase warily for a moment. "Just wanted to get that clear."

Chase rolls his eyes. "I've _stopped_, haven't I?" he says reasonably.

"Yeah," Foreman agrees, and leaves it there for the moment.

* * *

Foreman doesn't bring it up for another couple weeks. In that time, he's had a chance or two to wonder, nastily, if Chase maybe didn't sleep with House to get his job. Still, he's the best drinking partner he's found, and he doesn't want to ignore a giant potential pile of awkward that could get in the way of their work. So the next time Cameron doesn't join them for drinks, it seems like a good time to continue the conversation.

"It's not that I'm not flattered..." he starts.

"I've stopped," Chase says defensively. Then he looks thoughtful, and concerned. "Haven't I?"

"No, you've stopped." He waits while Chase relaxes and takes another drink. "It's just, there's a lot of weird baggage around black guys and sex."

"There is?" Chase's forehead creases.

Foreman stares at him for about a minute while his brain tries to recover from the startlement. "Well, yeah. You know, assumptions people make."

Of course, Chase's accent isn't just for show. He's not only a rich kid, he grew up in the suburbs of Sydney or something and has a totally different set of weird racial codes, probably having to do with Australian Aborigines. Foreman doesn't know whether to be thankful or not.

"What, like..." Chase frowns into his beer. "Like all black guys are lousy in bed?"

"Not really," Foreman says. "It's a fetishization thing. Sort of. Black guys are dominating, we'll ruin white girls for everyone else, we've all got big dicks..."

"I've heard that one," Chase says, looking amused. "Seriously, I don't see why _that_ rumor's a bad thing."

"It's annoying," Foreman says. "Especially when the ladies finally figure out that like everyone else, it scales by height with a bit of randomness from Mother Nature thrown in."

"Okay. That I can see."

"And we're all supposed to be terrific in bed, by the way."

"Right." Chase grins. "So... black guys and white girls is weird."

"Yup." Foreman nods. "And black guys and white guys is even weirder."

Foreman doesn't really know why he brought that up, except to see Chase's reaction. Chase just raises his eyebrows and changes the topic of conversation.

* * *

The weird thing about meeting Chase's dad is that it explains so much, and yet so little about Chase himself.

"So..." Foreman says, after about half an hour watching Chase stare moodily into his beer without touching it, "Where'd you grow up, exactly?"

"Melbourne," Chase says without inflection. "Dad moved to Sydney... after."

"Your dad know you're bi?"

Chase snorts. "He didn't care who I screwed, long as I got into med school." He pauses to think about that for a moment, then admits, "He might have cared if I'd screwed the dean."

Foreman laughs at that, a little. "Usually it's the dean screwing you, anyway."

Chase goes back to staring. Sensing that nothing else is forthcoming, Foreman takes a drink.

After the uncomfortable silence has stretched on plenty long enough he asks, "So why intensive care?"

That startles Chase into full attention. "I..." he chews on his lower lip a moment to think, then says, "Specialists all seem to stop focusing on the patient and start focusing on the disease. Look at House. I didn't want to turn into that." He laughs bitterly. "Of course, since I finished my residency, I've learned that House is right, and most of our patients are awful little shits."

He waits for Chase to finally drink some of his beer, grimacing at how it's gotten warmer as he's stared at it. "You seemed to get along fine with our last one."

"Kids have less bullshit to deal with," Chase says. "Their problems are usually more straightforward. If only because they don't have to deal with them as adults yet."

Foreman watches Chase drink, and thinks maybe that's been Chase's strategy all along.

* * *

They don't drink together much, either him and Chase or all three of them, during The Vogler Thing. And right afterward, he and Cameron go out for drinks a couple times, without Chase, until he gets sick of her talking and Not Talking about House.

They all need a drink after The Mark Warner Thing, though.

"He's nuts," Foreman opines. "Completely nuts. I mean, he's crossed the line before, but this was way past that. The line was in a totally different state by the time he got done."

"He was right," Cameron points out. She's already most of the way through her first drink.

Chase snorts. "He's usually right. Eventually."

"Being right doesn't excuse that kind of behavior," Foreman says.

"Treating patients?" Chase asks.

"Making patients worse!"

"So that he could treat him."

Foreman shakes his head. "I can't believe you still back him. The man is a lunatic."

"But he's right," Cameron says again.

It isn't like Cameron freaks out, or anything, but she drinks at twice the pace that he and Chase do, and before long she's snapping at everything they try and say and Chase takes her home in a cab.

Her apartment's close enough that Chase actually makes it back to the bar before Foreman leaves. Foreman hesitates when he sees him, then offers, "Want another round before heading home?"

"You sure you're okay to drive, after?" Chase says, and at his nod, grins and sits down. "All right, then."

Foreman buys the last round, and Chase downs a few swallows of beer gratefully as soon as it arrives. "So," Foreman says. "How's Cameron?"

"Bawling into her pillow right now, probably," Chase says dismissively. "Her crush on House is pretty pathetic, when you think about it."

Foreman silently agrees. "You thought she was hot, not so long ago."

Chase looks at him, incredulous. "Well, yeah! Have you seen the arse on that woman?" He holds his hands up like reverent parentheses and flashes Foreman a grin.

Foreman has to smirk at that. Then he gestures in Chase's direction with his beer and asks, "So what do you look for in women?"

"As opposed to what you look for, or as opposed to what I look for in... men?" Chase says pointedly.

Foreman shrugs. "I was just asking."

Chase relaxes after a second. "I look for the same things in women I look for in men," he says. "Compatibility, sense of humor, interest in men, and a nice arse."

Foreman has to smirk at that. Then he works out by process of elimination what Chase's interest in him was predicated on and feels equal measures flattered and creeped out.

"So..." he asks, unable to help himself, "What's it like?"

"Hm?"

"With guys."

Chase looks at him as though he's trying to decide if he's offended or not, then shrugs and goes with 'not.' "It's different. I mean, you know that, or you wouldn't be straight."

Wisdom from a drunken bisexual Aussie, right there. "Sure. But how different?"

Chase sort of squints and asks, "You never did any of the incredibly gay things that straight guys do with each other at puberty? Fooling around, circle jerks, that sort of shit?"

"Nope." He shrugs. "And anyway, that's not really sex."

"It's still sex." Chase grins. "You can have sex without penetration. Otherwise the lesbians of this world are out of luck, and nobody wants them to stop having sex."

Foreman chuckles in agreement. "With you there."

"People get so obsessed with anal sex," Chase says. "It's not like it's the only thing guys can do to each other." He points in Foreman's direction. "I think straight guys would be less freaked out by gay sex if it were all jerking each other off."

He takes a moment to mull that over. "Maybe. Yeah, a little."

Chase snorts. "Great. I'll keep that in mind if I ever flirt with you again."

* * *

"So, is this one of those weird race things again?" Chase asks a few weeks later. "Like black guys and white chicks and black guys and white guys?"

Foreman sighs. "I'm just asking if you'll testify."

Chase tilts his glass back and forth in his hands. "Doesn't seem like I need to, if you're going to."

Foreman sighs again, resignedly, this time. "It's just..."

Chase looks up when he trails off, and raises his eyebrows. "Ah-ha. This is one of those weird race things."

"No, it's just the more of us that testify, the better it looks," he says. "House won't. Cameron is still upset over her patient with the lung cancer. So I'm asking you."

"You're a neurologist," Chase says. "You're better qualified than me."

"Fine." He throws up his hands. "Forget I asked."

"I'll do it," he says. "I'm just amazed at how much that guy got to you."

It's three drinks later when he finally gets up the courage to say, "Hey, Chase--"

"You're not coming on to me," Chase says firmly.

Foreman blinks back his startlement. "What?"

"Okay, you were going to, but you'd better not." The look Chase sends him is darkly amused, and owes at least a little bit to House, he's sure. "I know that setup."

Embarrassed, he grimaces and turns to his beer. "Sorry."

"'Sallright." And as though it's that easy to shake off, Chase just goes back to drinking.

After he's been stewing for a while, wondering what the hell came over him and why the hell he was going to ask _Chase_ of all people, Chase says, "I've given up sleeping with straight guys."

He looks over. Chase is moodily scrutinizing his beer. "Uh... good?"

"You know what I mean. Well, maybe you don't know." Chase shakes his head. "Straight-but-I'd-like-to-try-this-out guys. Straight-except-I've-been-picking-up-guys-in-this-club-for-years guys. Straight oh-didn't-I-tell-you-I-have-a-wife-and-kids guys. Straight guys who want a blowjob and don't want to hire a hooker, just find someone they can beat up after." He looks like he's going to continue, but he suddenly cuts himself off and takes a long, conversation-avoiding drink.

Foreman's mouth has gone dry. "Met a few, have you."

"Yeah." Chase gestures, pointedly, with his glass. "Not so much of the last kind. But they're out there."

"So it's never a good idea?"

Chase is watching him appraisingly, and he wants to crawl under the table and forget he said that. "Didn't say that. Sometimes the sex is good. There's just the bullshit to cut through first. Yeah, yeah, yeah, straight, one-time-thing, fine, but you approached me."

"Well," Foreman says gamely, "you started it."

Chase stares at him, dumbfounded, before he gets it and snickers. "Shit, you're right, I did."

* * *

The whole mess with Angie the cancer kid could have been hilarious, except that when Cameron tries to joke about it Chase glares at her and says, "I'm not a pedophile, and it's starting to feel fucking creepy, okay?"

So when Chase has downed his fourth glass in an hour, and shows no signs of slowing down, Foreman cuts him off. "Okay. Probably time to sleep this whole thing off."

Chase glares at him for a moment, then looks down, nods. "Yeah. I'll get a cab."

"Nah, I'll get you home. Don't worry." Foreman slaps him on the shoulder, nods to Cameron. "Seeya tomorrow."

"'Nite," Cameron says as Chase stands, only unsteady for a moment.

"I'm not actually all that drunk," Chase says as they head out to Foreman's car.

"Nope," Foreman agrees, "But you're not getting behind the wheel."

"No, I'm not arguing," Chase says. "I'm just not drunk yet."

Foreman shakes his head. "Yeah, but you're not going to feel any better drunk than you are not drunk."

"You can't be sure of that."

Neither of them say anything on the trip to Chase's apartment. Foreman idles in Chase's parking spot, waiting, as Chase takes his time unbuckling his seatbelt, then pops the door enough to turn the light on but doesn't make any move to get out.

Finally, Chase looks over at him, and almost casually asks, "D'you want to come up?"

Half a dozen reasons to say 'no' pop into Foreman's mind immediately. He thinks them over for half a second before throwing the parking brake. "Sure."

The elevator ride to the seventh floor could have been incredibly awkward, but Chase spends his time studying the floor display, and not seeming self-conscious in the least if he realizes that Foreman's spending the time studying him.

He watches Chase's shoulders through his jacket as he walks. If he were on a date, by this point he'd be scoping out the woman's ass, watching her hips move. He adds not wanting to stare at Chase's ass to the list of reasons he should have said no.

Foreman's not sure what to make of Chase's apartment when they get there. It's got a fairly nice floor plan, and it's spotless, like Chase doesn't actually spend much time living in it. Cream and taupe and Sharper Image everywhere. There's a stack of DVDs by the flat-screen TV, mixed-era Bond films and a "defining moments" collection of something called Neighbours.

"It's rubbish," Chase says. He's smirking when Foreman looks up. "Just nostalgia, really."

"Right," he said. He takes a deep breath. "Look. I just... I'm straight, and--"

Chase rolls his eyes. "I explained about the bullshit, right?"

Foreman works to regain his thoughts, then says, "Yeah. I was just going to say, I don't know what to do."

That startles Chase, briefly. Then he looks moderately impressed. "Okay," he says. And smiles. "Start by backing up."

Chase takes a step forward. Foreman takes one backward. Chase keeps moving forward, until finally Foreman's back is flat against a wall and Chase is just slightly closer than arm's length, and his smile's been replaced by a thoughtful, confident assessment of the buttons on Foreman's shirt.

When he starts in on unbuttoning them, Foreman says, "Uh, I can--"

"Let me do all the work, all right?" Chase takes another half-step closer, and his knuckles are brushing Foreman's chest as he works. It's not... sexy, not really, but it's touch, connection, and that's okay. Good.

Chase doesn't kiss him, not on the mouth, which is a relief, frankly, but he halves the distance between them again and touches his tongue to the hollow of his throat, then along the right side of his collarbone, and as his head's bent down slightly Foreman inhales the smell of sweat and beer (guy smells) and Chase's shampoo (less girly than he'd imagined, somehow.) He leans his head back on the wall and tries to breathe out some of his anxiety as Chase runs his hands down his sides, around his belt to the buckle.

"Y'know," Chase says as he works the zipper on Foreman's fly, "I don't think I've ever done this with someone _quite_ as straight as you before."

"Well, we all need new experiences, right?"

Chase smirks. "Right." Then he gets down on his knees. And okay. Maybe it's the smoothness of the motion, maybe it's the blond hair, maybe it's just the imminent blowjob, but _now_ this is starting to seem like a good idea.

Chase doesn't play it up at all, when he's ready; just glances up once to make sure he's still okay with all this, then leans forward and takes the head of Foreman's cock in his mouth. Foreman inhales, involuntary reaction, and Chase's hands are on his hips, forcing his ass back against the wall, keeping him from moving much. Gingerly, as Chase works him over with his lips and tongue and ever-so-gently his teeth, he reaches out and rests his hand against that mess of blond hair, and Chase just hums encouragement as he threads his fingers through it, which feels great. It all feels great. Chase is good at this.

Chase has a dick, of course he'd be good at this, Foreman thinks, and that uncomfortable thought makes his fingers twitch against Chase's scalp. And suddenly he's really glad that Chase is holding him against the wall, taking the lead in all of this, because he's got this crazy impulse to jam his cock down Chase's throat and damn the consequences, because fuck this stupid... guy... _white_ guy, and really, that isn't what he wants to be thinking about right now. Especially since Chase is doing a pretty damn good job on the cock-worshiping front without any of that bullshit.

Fuck. He can't even stop _thinking_ about it. He slams his head back into the wall, which hurts, but doesn't do much to clear his mind. Fuck. _Fuck!_ And then Chase shifts his position slightly and tilts his head and swallows and suddenly Foreman's cock is all the way down his fucking throat and fuck! Fuck! Cocksucking--fuck!

He's really, really grateful for the wall for a few seconds. Chase leans back and smirks up at him. "Yes, I am a cocksucker, thanks for noticing," he says. "Kind of the definition, don't you think?"

"Uh," Foreman says, which he figures is better than the painfully obvious _Shit, did I say that out loud._ "Sorry."

"You were in the throes of orgasm, I don't hold it against you." He gets to his feet as easily as he got to his knees, and straightens out his shirt. "Though I do worry a bit for your girlfriends."

Foreman only glares a little as he puts his dick away, straightens out his pants and starts buttoning up his shirt. Chase has a hard-on. Foreman is trying not to pay attention to that fact. It's blowing his mind a bit that a guy could get excited sucking on another guy's dick. Though there has to be something in it, because when he's got his shirt back together Chase is still just watching him, expressionless, not moving closer or anything.

He takes a breath to apologize, maybe, and Chase cuts him off. "You don't have to... anything." He sounds slightly embarrassed. "Really."

Foreman is about to take the easy way out and say thanks when he actually stops to think about that for a second and gets angry. No way is he going to let this stupid, fucked-up, idiotic idea of a night stand like this. Besides, his momma raised him better than to be a lousy guest, though this is well outside the scope of any advice he'd actually gotten from her.

Chase has a matching sofa set arranged around the TV, and the loveseat is only a few steps away from the wall Foreman was leaning on. Foreman jerks his chin in its direction, trying not to think about the unfortunate name 'loveseat'. "Sit down."

Chase raises his eyebrows, then backs up and sprawls diagonally across the couch. Foreman picks up his ankles and puts his legs over the armrest, then sits down next to him and, trying not to think too hard about what he's doing, starts taking off Chase's pants.

"You're... getting the hang of this," Chase says.

Foreman doesn't say anything, because it's taking all his concentration to not think about what he's about to do, and he still almost flinches when he has to face the problem of another guy's dick. Still, he's a doctor, he trained to deal with his own embarrassment, and when he wraps his hand around Chase's prick the startled moan that Chase makes is interesting enough that he can focus on that, on Chase's reactions to what he's doing, instead of what he's doing.

Which is good, because randomness from Mother Nature gave Chase a bigger dick than him, which shouldn't be bothering him as much as it is. Which is to say, at all.

Chase's reactions are fascinating, though; he's lost his cockiness, all that self-possession he was drawing on earlier. He's panting, eyes glazed over, hands clutching at the upholstery. Either he was really, really hard up, or... considering all available evidence, actually, really hard up is probably the best diagnosis.

Foreman tries a couple of different positions for his hands, watching Chase as he shifts his grip. Nothing makes him feel more comfortable, really, but every few iterations he discovers something that makes Chase groan and twitch. Finally, Chase actually reaches down and rests his fingers over the back of Foreman's hand, which is weirder still, and makes him look up and see Chase grinning at him, high as a kite on endorphins. "You," Chase says, "are so fucking straight it's amazing."

Then his head lolls back and he comes with a shudder, moaning a couple times between spasms. Foreman wipes his hand off on Chase's shirt. When Chase notices, he grins and strips his shirt off, wipes himself off, and leaves the fabric piled over his crotch.

"Thanks," Chase says, a minute later when his respiration's back to normal.

"You're welcome," Foreman says. He swallows and lies, "No problem."

Chase snorts and leans back against the armrest. "Right. Well, this was a lousy idea."

"Well... yeah." He shakes his head and stands. Gets some distance. "Look, I need to sleep on this, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan." Chase looks up at him, rolls his eyes, and sits up properly. "God. No more straight guys, ever, I swear."

"Don't worry, I won't mind." It takes a lot of concentration to not wipe his hand off on his pants reflexively. He manages. "See you tomorrow."

"'Night."

When he gets to his car, Foreman leans his head on the steering wheel for a long time in the dark, wondering what he ever thought he'd gain out of this... experiment. At the moment, the only gains he can see are an orgasm and learning things about Chase that he'd never wanted to know.

Before turning the key in the ignition, he digs out napkins and antibacterial gel from his glove compartment and scrubs his hands until they're tingly and scratchy. When he's finally removed the psychic imprints of Chase's hair and Chase's dick from his fingers, he lets himself drive home.

* * *

He doesn't want to talk to Chase the next day.

Fortunately, they don't have much to do except clinic duty, checking to see if anything interesting enough to get House's attention is coming through. Foreman only bumps into Chase two or three times throughout the day, and he only has to suppress a panicked reaction once. Unfortunately, that's right in front of House.

After that, it's small consolation that Chase seems to be avoiding him as much as he's avoiding Chase.

He's taking lunch by himself when House's cane clatters into the table next to his elbow. "Join you?" House says, taking the seat across the table before Foreman can respond.

"Sure," he says belatedly. House steals some of his chips and chews them thoughtfully. Foreman sends him a disgusted look and takes another bite out of his sandwich.

"So," House says, false-casual, "how'd the experiment go?"

Foreman swallows and wonders if he can commit suicide with tuna salad. "What experiment?"

"The sleeping with guys one. Well," House says, backtracking, "one guy. Well, Chase."

There really isn't any point in denying it. Not with House. He's just glad that House has decided to bring it up now, instead of the next time they need to diagnose someone, in front of Cameron. Cameron would have found it endearing. "Well," he says, "apparently I'm so straight I can calibrate a Kinsey scale."

House snorts. "You needed to have gay sex to confirm that?"

"It was pretty lousy sex."

"You needed to have _bad_ gay sex to confirm that you're straight?"

"No." He sets down his sandwich and rubs at his eyes. "I needed... I _confirmed_ that I have a bunch of unresolved issues I need to deal with."

House just looks at him. "Involving Chase?"

"Yeah, that too."

"Are you two going to be able to work together?"

That's a question he should have been expecting but wasn't. Of course House would need to know if they could still work together. Foreman kicks himself for not anticipating that question. Because not anticipating the question means that he hadn't worked out at all what the answer to it is.

"You screwed up," House says gently.

"Yeah," he agrees.

"I can get Chase a transfer. He might even be happier in the ICU full-time."

"Wait." Foreman holds up a hand. "Chase gets the transfer because I screwed up?"

"Well, you both screwed up," House admits, "But yeah, that's how these things work."

Foreman takes a deep breath. "I think we can work together," he says. "It'll just take me a couple days." He thinks about that for a moment, and adds, "Or a patient with an aneurysm. That would work."

"Good," House says, and it's settled. "That's just what Chase said."

"That he needs a couple days or a patient with an aneurysm?"

"No, that _you_ need a couple days or a distraction. Chase knew what he was getting into." House picks up his cane, but doesn't make to leave, quite. "It's amazing what high-stress situations can tell you about people."

"_Gnôthi sauton_," Foreman quips.

House smirks. "Nice."

The end of the day finds them all back in the conference room. Foreman grabs his jacket, ignores Chase fiddling with his.

"Hey," Cameron says, slinging on her purse. "Drinks?"

Foreman looks up. Chase is looking to him. After the silence stretches out long enough to start getting awkward, Chase tilts his head in Cameron's direction with an exasperated 'Chicks...' expression.

"Sure," Foreman says, turning back to Cameron. She smiles, blissfully unaware. "Sounds like a good idea."

* * *

  
_Gnôthi sauton_ == "Know Thyself" in Ancient Greek. Engraved above the doorway of the Oracle at Delphi.


End file.
